


A Wholly Prussian Party

by Sunnyrea



Series: The War [16]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF
Genre: Arguments, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, Historical, M/M, Sex, flaming shots, torn breeches, yes it is that party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 17:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnyrea/pseuds/Sunnyrea
Summary: John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton are invited to a gathering at Baron von Steuben's headquarters, leading to a night of revelry and for the two men to find some time alone.[Part of a series but can be read as a stand alone story]





	A Wholly Prussian Party

**Author's Note:**

> For those who have not heard of this actual historical party: [Read this](http://revolutionary-pirate.tumblr.com/post/167176876600/col-hamilton-is-so-hurried-that-he-has-not-yet). I will also have the primary source about this party linked in the end notes. I have no idea how this story got so long but trust me, it is worth it.

John Laurens comes downstairs at General Washington’s headquarters in the early morning still tying his cravat. The winter encampment at Valley Forge has turned somewhat less cold with the nearing of April and the end of March, less snow bringing more cheer to all. Laurens is certainly not immune to this but still rises early enough to require some assistance. He ducks outside quickly to visit the kitchen, hoping to thieve himself some coffee.

Sarah, one of the General’s servants, now bent over the fire, must hear him because, before he may even search on his own, she says, “You have a jug in your office, get your coffee there.”

Laurens opens his mouth to thank her or apologize, he is unsure, then chooses to simply turn on his heel and return to the house proper. He crosses the hall to the aide–de–camp office and sees a large pitcher on the table beside Robert Hanson Harrison.

“Enough coffee for all of us?”

Harrison glances up at him. “If I should say no?”

Laurens smiles and crosses behind Harrison to take a mug from the shelves behind him. “Thank you, sir.”

“I should still prefer to keep it all.”

“Ah, but should you not then be up all night?”

“It is only seven and I should be up all night regardless when I am left with all the work.”

Laurens frowns as he pours some coffee into the mug he obtained. “How is that?”

“Well with the flurry of invitations in this office to parties I am not privy to, who else shall complete the work?” Laurens stares at him, mug and jug in hand until Harrison gestures to the other table. “One is named for you and it is the Baron’s house, surely it is a party.”

“Ah.” Laurens puts down the jug and crosses to the table. “So not reading my letters, are you?”

“I can gather the look of an invitation over that of army correspondence, Laurens.”

Laurens puts down his mug as he sits at the table and fishes through the pile of letters. He hears Harrison sigh, likely at the mess Laurens makes, but Laurens chooses to ignore the noise. Then he finds his name on the face of a letter. The writing appears familiar.

“Walker,” Laurens mutters upon recognizing the writing as Baron von Steuben’s aide-de-camp, Captain Benjamin Walker, one of the few men in their army able to understand his Prussian.

Laurens cracks the seal and reads the invitation within:

_You are cordiality invited to a night of revelry at the headquarters of Baron Friedrich Wilhelm August Heinrich Ferdinand Steuben, Inspector General of the Continental Army. Dinner and libations will be provided for all officers in attendance._

_A particular point of admission to the festivities requires that all those wishing to pass through the door cannot be wearing a whole pair of breeches. Those failing this requirement will not be permitted within._

_The Baron looks forward to your attendance this evening at sundown._

_Sincerely and with warmest regards,  
ADC BW and ADC WN_

Laurens stares at the invitation, reads it a second time then folds it up again. He stares across the room at the wall. He can barely contain the exclamation of surprise which begs to burst from his lips. He knows the Baron’s proclivities, a rumor that proved very much true, just as the Baron knows of Laurens and Hamilton’s more intimate relationship. However, what exactly can he or Walker mean by such a request in this invitation? What sort of gathering might this be?

Laurens looks through the pile again until he finds a similar letter addressed to Hamilton. He picks it up and stands from the table.

“Was the invitation not as expected?” Harrison asks as Laurens walks toward the door. “Dare I fear it be work and not gayety?”

Laurens turns back, stares for a moment, then clears his throat. “It is simply unusual.”

Harrison scoffs. “That is the Baron.”

Then Laurens hurries up the stairs and toward the bedroom he currently shares with Hamilton. He hears the sounds of noise from the second aide–de–camp bedroom, Richard Kidder Meade and Tench Tilghman’s voices unmistakable. John Fitzgerald is still absent from camp so the noise is less than it may have been in the past. The door to General Washington’s bedchamber is also closed, though likely he writes at the desk within or speaks with Lady Washington. It is still early but both rise with the sun.

The last room, however, is the one which Laurens makes for. He taps once quickly on the door then slips inside only opening the door enough for his entrance. Hamilton stands near the window nearly dressed but for his coat and the waistcoat he currently buttons.

“Good morning.” He smiles. “If you came to rouse me, you see you are too late.”

“Not precisely.”

Hamilton flashes him a far more wicked smile, full of implications others in their office and army would be best not to know about.

Laurens tries to look put off but fails miserably. He shakes his head. “No, not that.”

“Quite right.” Hamilton says, overly seriously. “There sounds to be many others awake and work yet to do.” He cocks his head. “Unless you think to be very quiet and possibly quick?”

“Hamilton.”

Hamilton smiles. “Yes, yes, I shall cease my teasing.” He finishes the last button on his waistcoat and slides up close to Laurens, touching Laurens’ waistcoat buttons instead. “What is your concern?”

“We have been invited to a party.”

Hamilton raises his eyebrows. “A party?” 

Laurens hands him his invitation. Hamilton breaks the seal, opens the letter and reads it quickly. Laurens knows exactly when he reaches the unusual portion as he barks a laugh. 

“What can he mean by that?” Hamilton asks looking up at Laurens. He turns the letter around, pointing to the line. “‘Not Whole?’”

“I thought much the same.”

“Should I be absent a leg?” Hamilton huffs another laugh. “Baring my thigh for all to see?”

Laurens frowns. “You are in far too good a humor for an invitation such as this.”

Hamilton only grins. “I have awoken refreshed, our food stores are more stocked, it is far less cold, and I slept beside a man I care much for.” Laurens bites the edge of his lip as Hamilton still smiles at him. He touches Laurens’ chin for a moment before flicking up his fingers in a casual gesture. “Why should I not be in good humor?”

Laurens nods. “Yes, you charm me as always, Hamilton, but can we not attend to this?” He holds up his own invitation.

“Hmm.” Hamilton takes Laurens’ invitation too, reading it as though it should express anything different. “WN?”

“William North, he is newly assigned to the Baron as one who can speak Prussian. You have not met him?”

Hamilton glances up. “Not until this evening it would appear.”

Laurens blows out a breath. “After our last gathering with the Baron, I fear what this one should mean.”

Hamilton frowns. “Our dinner with the Baron was a thoroughly pleasant evening, what have you to fear?”

“An absence of breeches it would seem.”

Hamilton huffs. “I am certain he did not mean an entire absence by this.”

“You are?”

“Laurens...” Hamilton gives him a look. “Your mind treads inappropriately.” Laurens gapes at him until Hamilton grins again. “If you worry so about this meaning, why not ask one of them to clarify?”

Laurens swallows and shakes his head. “I should find that far too... uncomfortable.”

“I doubt either should bite, Laurens.”

Laurens huffs this time. “I do not fear that.”

“Of course not.”

“Can we not be serious a moment?”

Hamilton hands both letters to Laurens as he picks up his coat from the back of a chair beside the dresser. He threads his arms through, pulling his hair free from the collar then takes his invitation back from Laurens.

“Should we read this with sense it must obviously be a reference to the sorry state of most of our enlisted men, lacking new uniforms or even shoes. How many have holes in all their clothing?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, so perhaps he thinks it fair that some of we officers share their plight.”

“At a party?”

“He has humor, the Baron.”

“If he even thought of this ruse.”

Hamilton shrugs. “Perhaps it a group effort what with Du Ponceau in the mix and Walker, emboldened of late.”

Laurens nods. “So I must wear breeches with holes?”

“Unless you should wish me to shorten them? I should think that acceptable enough.”

Laurens sighs. “You shall drive me to distraction today, Hamilton.”

Hamilton nods once as he twists around Laurens, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Laurens’ mouth. “And I pride myself in this.” Then he opens the bedroom door, walking out into the hall.

Laurens stares at the properly made bed in the room for a beat then turns and follows Hamilton. The door to the second aide room is open now, Meade still inside looking through a book open on the table. He glances up as Laurens passes, waving a hand in hello. Then Laurens tromps down the stairs, shoving the invitation into his jacket pocket. Back in the aide office, Hamilton sits at the one table while Tilghman has now joined Harrison at the other. The correspondence is spread out into proper piles. Laurens sees a few waiting for him.

“And now you are ready for work?” Harrison asks Laurens as he sits down beside Hamilton.

“As ever.”

He glances at Hamilton, dutifully translating something from Du Ponceau into English. He drinks Laurens’ mug of coffee.

“You are quite welcome.”

Hamilton glances at him. “You should not leave coffee unattended. It may stray.”

“I shall have you know, Laurens,” Tilghman says, pointing with his quill. “I saw your mug and, despite my temptation, left it as it was.”

Laurens nods. “You are a man of honor.”

Harrison suddenly chuckles and smiles. “Oh boys.”

“Ah, I see, it takes Tilghman to incite morning cheer?”

Harrison smiles at Laurens. “I required more coffee, it is set in now.”

“And now I am the one without.”

“There are mugs still,” Tilghman says.

“Yes,” Hamilton says, “Do get yourself a mug, Laurens, or you may remain too weary and tear your breeches running into the table.”

Laurens’ eyes widen but Hamilton merely takes a large gulp of his coffee and returns to his translation.  
Laurens may be forced to gag Hamilton at this rate. 

 

The day passes in the usual fashion with correspondence to answer, translation, Harrison working diligently on prisoner exchanges, Caleb Gibbs breezing in with reports on finances for the army which makes the General sigh such that they may hear it in the next room. Lady Washington favors them all with tea in the early afternoon, speaking of her worries on the state of Philadelphia and the British occupation. By late afternoon, Meade loads a bag full of letters and orders he must ride north. 

“I feel at times my horse knows me best now from how much time we spend in each other’s company.”

“Or at least your behind,” Tilghman quips. “It pressed so upon the animal’s back.”

“Yes, so well they should make you a rear admiral,” Hamilton says.

“Or the horse,” Tilghman counters.

Laurens cannot stop an ungentlemanly laugh and feels himself growing in humor as fine as Hamilton’s that very morning.

 

As the hour grows later, Laurens makes his way upstairs to his shared room. He completed his work for the day, as far as possible, and now he only requires attire for the evening event. For once, he must dress down. Laurens pulls his second pair of breeches from the dresser. He attempted to mend this pair several weeks back as it had holes. He had lined the inside to reinforce the garment but, despite Hamilton’s help, his work was only barely passable. Thus, he commissioned an entirely new pair from one of the camp woman for a modest sum. However, he did keep the repaired breeches. Surely, they must still have a hole somewhere.

“And I tried so to make those breeches serviceable.”

Laurens turns to Hamilton behind him now, the door to the room closed. “You did help but... well, there is no substitute for a proper pair.”

Hamilton glances down at the breeches Laurens’ wears now. “Indeed.”

Hamilton’s eyes linger for a few seconds then he ticks his eyes up again. Laurens purses his lips but it is with mirth and not chastisement. “And? What of these?” He holds up the other breeches.

Hamilton takes them, turning them around. He makes an ‘mmm’ noise then reaches inside one leg. Laurens hears a tearing noise, which causes him to flinch despite the poor state of the breeches to begin with.

Hamilton gives him a look. “It will need some holes, you cannot mourn.”

“They are merely breeches,” Laurens says with some petulance.

Hamilton chuckles. “Yes, indeed.”

“I am merely displeased at the work you did ruined.”

Hamilton scoffs. “You rarely wear them.”

“But I should surely need to at some point.”

“Yes, tonight.” Then Hamilton hands the breeches back to Laurens. A hole now lies high up on the left hip of the breeches.

Laurens pokes his fingers through the hole then looks up at Hamilton. “A hole at the knee would not suffice?”

“On the seam is better to fix it later.” Hamilton grins. “Better an outer seam, would you not say?” Hamilton flicks his finger on the fabric of the front flap.

Laurens ‘hmms’ once then runs his hand down Hamilton’s cheek to his neck. He fiddles with Hamilton’s cravat for a moment before pulling his hand back. 

“Well,” Laurens says, “there are still your breeches.”

Laurens pulls off his coat so he may change into his new ‘holey’ breeches. Hamilton takes the coat and drops it on the bed, then props his boot up on the chair, examining his own breeches.

“Now, should these be sacrificed?”

“Have you another pair?” Laurens asks as he sits beside Hamilton’s boot to pull off his own.

Hamilton purses his lips. “I believe so.”

Laurens drops his boots on the floor. “Worse than this pair?”

Hamilton raises his eyebrows, leaning toward Laurens somewhat so his leg presses against Laurens’ shoulder. “You find fault with these?”

Laurens loops his arm around Hamilton’s leg, running his hand up over Hamilton’s knee then over his thigh. “They feel quite well to me.”

Hamilton’s lips twitch as he looks down at Laurens. Laurens smiles slowly then he stands up in his stocking clad feet. Hamilton pulls his foot off the chair to step close to Laurens, his fingers pulling at the buttons of Laurens’ non-holey breeches. Laurens breathes in slowly, watches Hamilton for a moment then grips his hands. Hamilton looks up at him. 

Laurens smirks. “We do wish to attend this party of the Baron’s do we not?”

Hamilton blows out a breath. “I suppose we do.”

Laurens nods. “If only to discover the reasoning and results behind their ‘not whole breeches’ requirement.”

Hamilton chuckles. “Oh indeed. I cannot wait to see if the Baron’s staff are included in this requirement or if we are merely the show for them.”

Laurens laughs as he finishes unbuttoning his breeches and trading them for the other pair. “Or if we two should be the only ones who have this odd requirement.”

Hamilton pauses for a moment as he steps to the dresser then he shrugs. “I should not be wholly surprised.”

“Perhaps holey surprised?” Laurens says as he pulls on his breeches, with his thumb through the new hole.

Hamilton chuckles as he pulls his second pair of breeches from a drawer. “At least we shall be shabby together.”

Laurens buttons up the top of his breeches, a patch of skin and the edge of his smallclothes exposed. Fortunately, he may easily move his coat to cover the offending hole. “I would not allow you to leave me in this state alone.”

Hamilton flips his coat off his shoulders then sits to pull at his own boots. “Of course not.”

 

Twenty minutes later, Hamilton and Laurens stand outside Baron von Steuben’s headquarters. Many lights shine from the windows, and they hear the sounds of voices and some sort of music inside. The sun set half an hour past so they are somewhat late.

“Perhaps we may use the General as an excuse?” Laurens mutters as they near the door.

“What is that music? A violin?” Hamilton asks.

Laurens knocks firmly on the door. A minute later, a blond man opens the door. It is William North. Hamilton frowns but Laurens quickly says, “Captain North, we apologize for our lateness.”

“It is no matter!” North says, gesturing for them to enter. “Come in.”

They step through the door but get no further as North puts a hand on Hamilton’s chest. “A moment please, Colonels.” He steps back, looks them up and down once, cocking his head to the side. “Walker!” North shouts.

Benjamin Walker jogs up to them, holes at both of his knees, Laurens notices. “North, must you shout so?”

“How else should you hear me?”

Walker sighs then bows once to Laurens and Hamilton. “Welcome gentlemen. We are pleased you could attend and yes, North, their breeches certainly pass muster. We did not give a requirement as to the type and extent of ragged breeches.”

Walker purses his lips. “Lieutenant Colonel Laurens has but one hole and Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton only tears around the cuffs.”

“I am missing at least two buttons,” Hamilton insists. “This should be approval enough.”

“He is missing buttons,” Walker says seriously.

North scoffs. He gestures to his own breeches which include a tear along one outer seam from his knee until half way up his thigh and then another large hole in on the top of his other thigh which appears as if he may have torn it deliberately revealing more than any other engagement would bearably allow.

Walker rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, your breeches are the highest standard but we do not hold all to that.”

Walker moves behind Hamilton and Laurens, pushing them forward as he closes the front door. “Come come, you are accepted.”

North purses his lips then turns and strides away. Laurens notices a tear in the seat of his breeches as well. Laurens gives Walker a look. Walker shakes his head. “He is far too serious in his amusement.”

“Or far too amused into serious?” Hamilton quips.

Walker gives Hamilton a look much like Laurens gave him. Then he smiles. “Dinner shall not be served for another hour yet and it shall be causal, seated or not. With the number in attendance we felt it best to allow for some loosening of etiquette.”

“Oh, indeed,” Laurens says.

“Wholly appreciated,” Hamilton counters.

Walker’s lips twitches. “I am quite pleased you are both here. General Greene’s aides are more... brutish in behavior and Gibbs has begun singing.”

“Was that the violin music?” Hamilton says as they walk down the hall, hanging their hats and cloaks aside at least a dozen others.

“The Baron asked one of the regulars to play for the evening. He is quite agreeable if somewhat confused.”

“By holes?” Laurens asked.

“Not feeling quite whole?” Hamilton adds.

“You tire this jest,” Walker retorts. Then he gestures to the two rooms off the front hall. “Find yourself some refreshment and relax, it is deserved.”

Laurens and Hamilton enter the dining room where half a dozen men, perhaps more, speak and laugh in clusters around the table. The table holds carafes of wine and rows of tall glasses. It appears some used glasses mingle around one end of the table and several of the carafes are near empty.

“Short work of an hour,” Hamilton mutters as he pours wine into two glasses.

“It is the army.”

Hamilton hands a glass to Laurens as he takes a large drink of his own. “Then we had best catch up.”

Laurens raises an eyebrow taking a sip of his own. “Not too quickly or you should rip your breeches for falling against the table.”

Hamilton grins at Laurens, taking another sip of the wine. “I see your jest.”

Laurens grins. “It was too easy.”

“Ah, bonjour, bon neuiet.”

Laurens and Hamilton turn to the Baron’s Prussian secretary Pierre Etienne Du Ponceau who slides up alongside them, his breeches missing a button near the top so his front flap gaps somewhat suggestively. Laurens tears his eyes up to Du Ponceau’s face but the man grins at him knowingly.

He wraps his arms around both their shoulders and shakes once. “Bon bon, c’est bien de te voir.”

“And to see all of you,” Hamilton says as he swirls the wine around in his glass.

The young man chuckles at Hamilton and winks once. Laurens wonders how much wine he has drunk thus far.

“I, eh... pleased at so well here.”

Laurens frowns wondering which meaning Laurens’ might extrapolate from Du Ponceau’s attempts at English, likely all of them.

“Pleased with us?” Hamilton asks, drinking more of his wine, half gone now.

“Oui, please with you,” Du Ponceau says sounding very proud of himself.

“And your gathering, c’est magnifique.”

Du Ponceau chuckles, suddenly taking Hamilton’s wine and drinking some with a gasp. “oh, tu attends juste.”

Then he untangles himself from the pair of them, pushing Hamilton’s wine back into his hands and trotting over to a trio of men in Pennsylvanian uniforms in the corner.

Laurens glances at Hamilton. Hamilton chuckles, still watching Du Ponceau, as he downs the rest of his wine. “I imagine this shall be a long night.”

Laurens gulps some of his wine. “Indeed.”

Hamilton and Laurens mingle with those in the dining room for half an hour, sampling different wines and speaking with officers from various brigades. Laurens recognizes most of the Captains and Colonels among them, though he cannot claim familiarity with many. He had wondered at the party catering to only a certain type of man but such thoughts are obviously inaccurate. Most of the gentlemen at the party appear quite regular in their private tastes, as far as Laurens may ascertain, and merely attend to enjoy the Baron’s class and hospitality. Laurens does spy a few men here and there whom he questions as to their personal tastes but it is near impossible to tell with any certainty. As they mingle, they hear conversations on desire for the fight to renew, happiness at the warmer weather, longing for home and some strange account of hunting in the nearby woods.

“He says a bear but I guarantee it but a rabbit,” Hamilton hisses in amusement.

Laurens cannot help admiring and searching out the various attempts at torn breeches for the festivities. Somewhat unsurprisingly, it appears many men did not require an effort to have clothing in a state of disrepair. Laurens wonders where the Baron may be, as they have not seen him yet in their time here.

“Laurens! Laurens!” Laurens turns at the sound of his name to see Caleb Gibbs hurrying toward him. “I require you.”

“Now?" Laurens says, “I have yet to speak to the Baron and thank –”

“Then follow me and you shall!” Gibbs insists. He flashes a look at Hamilton. “Give me but a moment!”

“I...” Laurens looks at Hamilton pleadingly; he would rather spend more time with Hamilton in this relaxed setting. Also Gibbs’ certainly inebriated state causes him some concern as to the man’s intentions. Hamilton only smirks at him. “Gibbs, what do you...”

“Go forth,” Walker says suddenly as he appears around Laurens with a carafe of wine in hand. He pours some more in Hamilton’s glass. “We shall bear well without you.”

Hamilton brushes his hand over Laurens’ quickly. “Do give Gibbs some relief, Laurens. He looks ready to jump over a table if you do not accompany him.”

Laurens taps Hamilton’s hand once then turns to Gibbs. “Fine, then lead on.”

Gibbs breaks into a smile, grips Laurens’ arm and drags him from the dining room. Laurens stumbles as Gibbs pulls him, spills some wine on the floor and yelps as they bang into the doorframe. Laurens hears Hamilton chuckle behind him as Gibbs pulls him into the front parlor. Laurens sees North speaking with two men Laurens recognizes as General Gates’ aides. He sees two more men which may be from a North Carolina regiment drinking what looks like rum near the fire. Gibbs keeps moving, through the parlor and into what would be the family parlor when the house is not commandeered for military use. Now the parlor appears to be the office for the Baron’s aides, more tables than fine chairs, though a plush one lies in the corner where the Baron sits now.

“Found him!” Gibbs cries as they enter the room.

The other four men in the room cry delight, holding up their glasses.

Laurens smiles as charming as he is able surrounded by men he does not know. “Hello.”

The Baron stands, walking over to him and gripping Laurens’ hand not holding the wine glass with both of his. “Guten abend.” He gestures to the other men. “Eh, of General Maxwell’s brigade.”

“Yes, right,” Gibbs says, jumping into the middle of the room. “Captain Smith, Captain... eh, forgot your name.”

Gibbs tries to rattle off more names, naming several incorrectly and far too quickly. Laurens takes a sip of his wine and speaks quietly to the Baron as he appraises the young men in the room. “Not your usual set, are they?” 

The Baron frowns at him. None of his translators are with him and having not much more than a month among them, the Baron’s English is not yet substantial. Laurens clarifies hoping French may better fair, “Pas votre normal; très masculin.”

The Baron chuckles, understanding well enough. “No? You think you not?” He looks Laurens up and down once.

Laurens blushes despite himself, looking away and taking another sip of his wine. The Baron chuckles more and pats him on the arm. “Nein, nein, andere Männer ja, anders als wir.”

“But you entertain all kinds,” Laurens implies from the Baron’s words. 

Laurens wonders still at discretion at such a party as this. Though the Baron lives with rumors, they are not universally well known nor always believed what with the Baron’s rank and sometimes gruff and cursing behavior. North, at least, seems intent to have a contingent of ‘men’s men’ of a kind at the gathering. Laurens still worries at such a cross section of officers and the flow of alcohol. They must remain guarded despite the Baron. 

“Calm,” the Baron says, clearly noticing Laurens’ tension. “It is my... eh, party?”

“Yes, party,” Laurens says.

The Baron grins. “Party.”

“Right!” Gibbs says, “So, Laurens, I need you to sing now.”

Laurens eyebrows fly up. “Sing? I?”

“Yes, you sing, do you not? And I sing and I cannot recall all the words to this song, so you shall –”

“No, Gibbs,” Laurens interrupts. “I am not the singer.”

Gibbs makes a dismissive noise. “Yes, you are. You are the southerner. Do you not learn all that for your balls and the like?”

Laurens scoffs. “One cannot learn talent.”

Several men in the room chuckle, two clinking glasses. Gibbs sighs. “You have to sing, I brought you here.”

“You must be thinking of Hamilton. He is the able singer.”

Gibbs purses his lips, drink clearly slowing his brain. “Is it not the same?”

Laurens shakes his head. “No, I am Laurens, he Hamilton, not the same man.”

One Captain barks a laugh. “Gibbs, are you sure anyone sings here but you now?”

“Yes,” another man says, “You will have to be camp singer.”

“Protect the General with your song.”

The men in the room all laugh. 

Laurens says to the Baron, “Gibbs as our official Sänger.” He does remember some German from school, if only scattered words. 

The Baron chuckles, gathering enough of the repartee.

Gibbs waves a hand, “Well, Laurens you shall manage then and help me.” He grips Laurens’ arm and pulls him center. “The tune is Spanish Ladies, yes?”

Laurens shakes his head. “Yes?”

“Right!”

“Wait, I–”

“ _Farewell and adieu, to you Spanish Ladies_ ,” Gibbs begins.

Laurens looks at the other men, now noticing the violin player as he begins fiddling once more in the corner. Gibbs continues to sing, swinging his arm and several of the men joining in at certain words, the sound becoming something of a mush.

“ _We hope in the short time to see you again!_ ” Gibbs sings. “ _We’ll rant and we’ll roar like true American Sailors._ ”

The men cheer at the ‘American’ in the song which was no doubt British before.

“Come, Laurens,” Gibbs says and he swings his arm. “It is the next verse I cannot recall, something on forty fathoms?”

“Forty–five,” one man cries.

“Sing more on the ladies,” another man says, “Spanish or any other.”

The men around them all laugh. Laurens shoots the Baron a helpless look. The Baron takes a slow sip of his wine and only grins at Laurens’ distress.

“I do not know the song, Gibbs,” Laurens says low.

Gibbs makes a squawking noise. “Do not know? Come now, tis a sea shanty.”

“And I am in the army, not the navy.”

The Baron chuckles, clearly knowing the words ‘army’ and ‘navy.’

“But Spanish Ladies, come you must know.”

“You do not appear to know it!”

“I know most.”

Lauren sighs. “I cannot help you, Gibbs.”

Gibbs sighs and shakes his head. “You disappoint me, Laurens.

Laurens downs the last of his wine. “C’est terrible.”

Gibbs moves over to the Captains leaning near the window and starts on again about the missing words to his song, some continued comments about better to have the ladies than the song lyrics. Laurens walks back to the Baron. The Baron puts his hand on Laurens’ shoulder and steers them both back into the front parlor away from Gibbs’ sailor talk and song.

“Amüsant,” the Baron says as they enter the main parlor. 

"Amusing?" Laurens frowns. “If you could call it so.”

The Baron gives him a look which seems to say ‘relax.’ Laurens cannot stop a smile. The man must surely know Laurens’ fears and perhaps Laurens does overreact. Half the gathering are well into their cups and the rest soon shall be. What harm may come from mostly innocent dalliances or relaxing of behaviors few my recall or at least not with clarity?

“My apologies,” Laurens says to the Baron. “Perhaps I need more wine.”

The Baron gestures toward the fire where Walker now stands with North. They both hold a number of port glasses in hand. The Baron pushes Laurens at the small of his back until they join the pair of aides and a few other men.

“Ah,” Walker says. “Baron.” He hands the Baron a glass and another to Laurens. “Something a bit stronger, ja?” Walker says.

He pours some liquor into all their glasses. He then clinks each of their glasses and they all gulp down the liquor in one go. Laurens hisses at the sharp liquor, tasting like rum of a kind but none Laurens has drank before. North whistles and pours himself another shot of the liquid. 

Laurens puts down the glass on the mantel above the hearth. “I should have more wine instead.”

“Ha, too much for the proper boy?” North chides.

“Watch that or he’ll become less proper,” Walker says with a grin, which could mean any number of things.

North smirks. “I should prefer that.”

The Baron shakes his head. “Du brauchst ihn nicht zu drängen.”

North frowns. “Vielleicht möchte ich?”

The Baron gives North a stern look until North shrugs. Walker only shakes his head.

Laurens clears his throat choosing to ignore North’s flirtation, and feeling it rather better he could not understand their German. He then gestures toward the hall. “Pardon me, gentlemen, I shall return.”

He flees into the hall blowing out a breath to relax himself. He looks down to the left and sees Du Ponceau answering the door. At the door, Laurens notices sandy blond hair next to tall powdered hair.

“Ah, bonjour, General Lafayette. Bienvenue!” Du Ponceau says. “Et Lieutenant Colonel Tilghman.”

“Hello!” Tilghman says brightly as they walk in. “Mes excuses; I must apologize for our lateness. General Washington required the Marquis and I obliged as to wait for him.”

“Merci,” Lafayette says he takes off his hat. Je suis heureux d’être invité.”

“Ah...” Du Ponceau looks down between the two of them. “Colonel Tilghman, entrer.”

Tilghman frowns in confusion but walks past the Prussian. He smiles as he sees Laurens. Laurens notices the small tear in Tilghman’s breeches over one of the buttons. Lafayette however, Du Ponceau stops in the door speaking quickly in French so even Laurens cannot follow at this distance.

“Tilghman,” Laurens says as he watches the exchange in the doorway. “Has Lafayette read the invitation to the party this evening?”

Tilghman frowns. “I do not believe he received the formal invitation as he was among the troops most of the morning then with the General after that.”

Laurens grimaces. “Then his invitation...”

“One of his aides made sure to mention the Baron’s invitation so he would not cause any offense or rudeness by not attending accidentally.” Tilghman smiles. “Quite proper, of course.”

“But he did not read the particulars?”

“You mean the breeches?”

“That is what I mean.”

Tilghman smiles and his expression is entirely too amused. “No, I suppose not.”

“Tilghman!”

Tilghman starts to laugh as Laurens weaves around him toward the pair in the doorway. Before he quite makes it to them, however, Du Ponceau bends down just enough to pull at Lafayette’s breeches making a loud ripping noise which stops Laurens in his tracks. Lafayette’s mouth drops open in surprise and he takes a large step backward in alarm. He looks down at his breeches to see a hole along the inner seam from just above his knee and down to the cuff.

“Bon.” Du Ponceau gestures into the house. “Prendre plaisir.”

Lafayette takes two uncertain steps, still staring at Du Ponceau with a mixture of confusion and offense upon his face. Laurens finally wills his legs to move once more. He slides up next to Lafayette and takes his arm.

“My dear Marquis.”

“What ever is occurring at his event?” He asks in a hush.

“It was mentioned on the invitation that no man shall be admitted wearing whole breeches.”

Lafayette looks at him incredulously. “I do not understand you.”

“Not whole, but with holes instead. A sort of shabby elegance perhaps. I do not know the source of the idea.”

“One must be in some manner of undress?” Lafayette says and scoffs. “Is this King Louis’ court?”

Laurens smiles. “I would say less grand and not exactly ‘undress.’“

“And thus now I have a hole in my breeches.” Lafayette turns toward Laurens as an aide to General Greece passes so as to hide the exposure of his person.

Laurens puts his hands on Lafayette’s shoulder. “I am certain it can be mended.”

“As though that were the point,” Lafayette says harshly. Then he breathes in slowly. “My apologies, mon ami, I simply...” Lafayette worries his lip for a moment, looking around furtively. 

“Come,” Laurens says. “Some wine perhaps?”

Lafayette makes a face but follows Laurens, close behind him as though Laurens could mask his presence. 

The moment they turn into the dining room they hear, “Lafayette!”

Hamilton plows into them as though a horse at full gallop. Lafayette hits the wall as Laurens knocks back into him, his arms full of Hamilton.

“Bonjour, mon cher ami, Lafayette!” Hamilton says in a rush, shifting back and forth on his heels, gripping Laurens’ arms and staring at Lafayette. “Je suis si heureux you are here now!” Hamilton starts in French and ends in English.

“Oh so glad, yes! Oh.” He laughs once. “It is a wonderful party, really. You have to – oh! There is a drink which they have here. Have you had any as yet? No?”

“I...” Lafayette starts.

“No, wine? No.” Hamilton turns suddenly to Laurens and smiles wide. “Laurens. You must try it, a shot of liquor and, oh, I should not spoil the surprise.”

“Hamilton,” Laurens says slowly, gripping Hamilton’s arms as the man has begun to sway slightly. “You appear drunk.”

Hamilton grins again. “Not just appear.”

Lafayette laughs once high. Hamilton leans backward, one arm still holding onto Laurens and grabs a glass of wine off the table. “Here.” He hands it to Lafayette. “Join me.”

Lafayette grips the glass as if a lifeline and crosses his legs as he leans against the wall, the rip in his breeches almost completely obscured. “Merci.”

“Laurens, come with me,” Hamilton says, pulling them both along the table. “Before they lay for dinner you must have a Salamander.”

Laurens’ eyes widen. “A... Salamander?”

“Not the creature, it is some spirits and– Walker!” Hamilton cries, tripping over his own foot as he turns. “Walker!”

Walker slides into the room, a bottle in his hand. “You yelled, Hamilton?”

“The spirits, two more, for Laurens and myself.”

“Ah, and none for me?”

Hamilton makes a dismissive noise. “As you choose.”

Walker grins. “I do.”

He slides over to the table, slides three port glasses into a line and pours some of the liquor from the bottle into each one. Laurens reaches for his glass but Walker smacks his hand. “Not yet.”

Laurens frowns. “I have had some earlier, with you, if you recall.”

Walker laughs once. “Oh no, you had the liquor, not the drink.”

“What?”

Hamilton laughs, burying his face in Laurens’ shoulder for a moment. They he stands up straight again and claps his hands. “Let us proceed!”

Walker picks up a candle lighter, holding its wick into one of the candles lighting the table. Once lit he lowers the flame over the glasses. The first one pops into flame on the surface of the spirits, then the next and then the last. Walker blows out the lighter, puts it down then picks up two flaming glasses. He hands the first to Laurens then the second to Hamilton. Walker picks up the last glass for himself and holds it up. “Cheers, sirs.”

He and Hamilton down their drinks, fire and all, in one gulp. Hamilton shakes his head and blows out a breath, slamming the glass down on the table so Laurens fears it may break.

“You are mad,” Laurens mutters.

Walkers gestures at him. “Drink up.”

Laurens stares at the flames, breathes in through his nose then pours the liquid down his throat. He swallows and coughs once, feeling no burning due to the fire, as he feared.

Hamilton grins and wraps his arm around Laurens’ lower back. “Yes, delicious!”

“How many have you had?” Laurens asks, still breathing deep to lessen the rush to his head.

Hamilton purses his lips, almost instantly turning back into a smile. “Four?”

“Six,” Walker corrects, “at least, and your wine.”

“Psh,” Hamilton waves both his hands, one arm still wrapped around Laurens. “Wine is nothing.”

Laurens unwraps Hamilton from his back. “It certainly is not nothing,”

“Three glasses of wine is a meal,” Hamilton insists, walking Laurens backward away from Walker.

“We are not eating,” Laurens says.

“We had the Salamanders,” Hamilton says with a grin.

“Also not food.”

“Fire is not food?”

“You joke now.”

“I do.”

Then Laurens’ back hits the wall just beside a sideboard. He glances down, glad to see he did not rip his breeches more as it would be an irony he is currently unprepared for. Hamilton slides his hands down Laurens’ arms so he holds Laurens’ forearms against the wall and presses his thumbs into the hollow of Laurens’ hips. 

Hamilton breathes in deeply. “You look splendid.”

Laurens smiles. “And you appear drunk.”

Hamilton smiles. “And does it make me less charming or handsome in your eyes?”

“Of course not.” Laurens turns his hands around so he may grip Hamilton’s wrists and carefully push them up so Laurens may free himself from the wall. “But we stand in a dining room of people.”

“Do we?”

“Come.” Laurens turns him around, walking him toward one of the dining room exits. “Perhaps you should sit.”

“If you should sit, I should happily sit astride your –”

“Yes, yes,” Laurens interrupts. “Into the parlor.”

Laurens makes to follow him then spies Lafayette pressed against the wall, closer to the corner now. Laurens sees he speaks with North who leans on the wall beside him with a wide smile.

“Blast,” Laurens grumbles. “Go sit for a moment, please,” Laurens says close to Hamilton’s ear then pushes him toward the parlor.

Laurens whirls back around into the dining room, picks up a glass of wine then walks over to Lafayette and North.

“Hello,” Laurens says briskly. “I do apologize for interrupting but I must borrow the Marquis for but a moment,” Laurens says to North.

North pouts, standing up straight again. “Ah, but it is a party and you sound as though you speak of work?”

Lafayette looks at Laurens. “Oui?”

“But a moment, I promise.”

North makes a face as though he does not care. “Do as you will.” Then he turns away toward a trio of servants beginning to clear the table and lay for dinner.

Laurens takes Lafayette’s arm, drinks some of his wine then walks them back into the hall.

“What is the matter?” Lafayette asks.

“Oh,” Laurens replies. “You appeared to need saving, was I wrong?”

Lafayette smiles slowly. “No.”

“Perhaps we should remain together for a time?”

Lafayette nods. “Yes, please.”

Laurens smiles and taps his wine glass against Lafayette’s. They both sip the wine quickly. Laurens glances down the hall and does not see Hamilton.

“The parlor, perhaps,” Laurens says steering them into the parlor.

Inside, however, a sight Laurens did not expect greets the two of them. Hamilton and Gibbs stand near the fire with a number of men seated and listening as they sing something low in their registers. Laurens catches the word 'sailor' and 'bonny lass,' the pair swinging their arms and holding each other by the shoulder. Apparently, Gibbs found his singing partner.

Du Ponceau spies them at the door and walks over, two of the spirits glasses in hand, preparedly aflame, “Sirs.”

He hands one to both of them. Lafayette looks positively scandalized.

“Boire des, hommes!” Du Ponceau commands.

Laurens drinks his quickly and pushes at the bottom of Lafayette’s glass to coax him on. Lafayette hesitates then he suddenly throws back the drink. His head snaps back down and he whistles quietly. “Zut.”

“Lafayette!” Hamilton calls from near the fire. “Come sing!” 

“Non non,” Lafayette admonishes.

“Oui oui,” Hamilton counters.

“I know not the words,” Lafayette says.

“We may sing a different song.”

“To any song.”

Laurens chuckles. 

A number of men begin shouting out songs to sing, some Irish melodies at first then old British ballads which sparks an argument about no British songs daring to be sung. One man throws a punch, which goes so wide he trips himself up.

“Laurens, Lafayette, Laurens, now you see.” Hamilton points between them as the bounces up to them. “You only drank but one more flaming drink and I have had two more.”

“Oh no.”

“So I suspect you should need another, yes?”

“Perhaps not yet.”

“Why must they be on fire?” Lafayette asks.

Hamilton laughs once loudly. “And why should they not be?”

Lafayette shakes his head. “Is it a Prussian custom?”

Hamilton purses his lips. “I did not ask.”

“Are you simply that fond of fire?” Laurens asks with a chuckle.

“Tis the hair,” Hamilton says gesturing at his own now less pristine locks. Then he leans closer to Lafayette, peering up at him, their height differences even more marked than his own with Laurens. “And you, Lafayette, I should think the fire would draw you as well.”

He reaches up and rubs a line hard over Lafayette’s powdered hair. Lafayette tries to jerk back in surprise but Hamilton follows him with a muttered, “wait wait.”

Lafayette trips against Laurens and Hamilton knocks them both together, Laurens having to hold up Lafayette, as Hamilton rubs at the spot on Lafayette’s hair again.

“Hamilton, do not –” Laurens starts but Hamilton makes an amused noise.

“What ever are –” Lafayette says.

Hamilton suddenly cries in triumph. He pulls his hand back, powder on his thumb and now a small burst of red on Lafayette where his hair is exposed to its true color.

Hamilton grins. “Fire.”

Lafayette puts a hand up to his head where Hamilton assaulted it and looks at Laurens in concern.

“I am afraid Hamilton has ruined some of your toilet.” Laurens gestures to Hamilton’s hand.

Hamilton shakes his head. “No no, simply reminded.” He laughs again and presses his nose into Laurens’ shoulder.

Lafayette steps around the pair of them to look into a mirror on the wall near the parlor entrance. He sighs heavily and glares back at Hamilton. “Need you have done so?”

“Need you have powdered for such a gathering?” Hamilton retorts, pulling at Laurens’ jacket, clinking buttons.

Lafayette looks a bit as though he wishes to throw something at Hamilton.

“Red,” Hamilton whispers as though very proud of himself.

Lafayette pushes at the powder around the spot, trying to fix the error. “I am aware of my own hair color.”

Hamilton chuckles again, his fingers twisting around Laurens’ wrist.

Then the Baron’s voice breaks through all the revelry and slurred singing. “Dinner is served!”

A cheer erupts from the parlor, echoed in the dining room, as all around them men move toward the dining room. The scraping of chairs and the clink of plates begins in the dining room, the noise of chatter increasing. A trio emerges from the back office, falling over one another, red lips on a pair of them and Laurens has no need to guess.

Lafayette looks sharply at Laurens and suddenly says, “What has happened to Tilghman?”

Laurens opens his mouth then shuts it again. He had entirely forgotten about Tilghman.

Hamilton laughs once and gestures toward the office. “I believe he ventured too far back into the house.”

“Too far back for what?” Laurens asks.

Hamilton makes a face and shrugs. Laurens cannot tell if it is drunk coyness or a lack of knowledge.

Laurens shifts Hamilton around, prying his hands off his jacket then deposits him into Lafayette’s arms. “I shall check.”

Laurens marches around a settee and into the office. A number of papers lie on the floor, two wine glasses left on a windowsill. He sees no Tilghman under or behind any furniture. He decides on a hunch and follows a servant’s door out toward the small kitchen. As he opens the kitchen door, he hears a female yelp and the crash of pots. Something hits the wall near Laurens and he ducks instinctively. When he stands up straight again, he sees the skirts of a woman disappearing through the yard exit. Tilghman stands in the middle of the kitchen, his cravat in disarray, an empty wine bottle in one hand and his hair hopelessly tangled over one shoulder. He stares at Laurens looking so confused Laurens cannot even laugh.

“Tilghman?”

“Laurens, I do believe I have been kissed by three people tonight and have drunk this whole bottle alone.”

Laurens blinks. “Pardon?”

“I went to the dining room then mentioned a wine I preferred and a Captain... Marshal? He accompanied me through the house to find the kitchens. I did not mean I should not prefer the wine they served but he said we should search the stores.”

Tilghman gestures to the kitchen at large. “But it was busy with preparation for dinner so he moved to the store rooms and found Elise who said something of my eyes and then Marshall was no longer with me, I cannot say where he had gone, and I believe I had drank a glass or two on the walk to the kitchen... we may have stopped to hear Gibbs’ song...”

Tilghman frowns and puts the bottle down on a table. “Elise asked after my rank and then we kissed for some time, I could not think in any clear way... have women done so to you?” Tilghman asks in confusion.

“Not often,” Laurens mutters.

“She said much of this house was not her inclined sort of man but I seemed a regular sort and that I should stay longer with her but… oh, I could not, could you imagine?” Tilghman flushes red with his own proclamation. 

“I returned toward the office and then someone else spoke to me, Marshall again, and I do believe... Oh Laurens, I know not what to think. I must have had too much wine because I think...” He bites his lip then shakes his head. “I thought perhaps he kissed me too but that cannot be, certainly!”

Laurens clenches his teeth together, eyes wide. “Uh... Perhaps not…”

“And when he let go and I could not stand up right... if he did kiss me, which cannot be so. I do not know, perhaps I had more wine, someone said... I must have imagined that, perhaps it was Elise again whom I kissed? But then I returned to the kitchen because my bottle had grown empty and a younger woman, Pauline? Poutine... no... French, I think. She said my eyes reminded her of the Seine?”

“The river?”

“Oh and then the kitchen was emptying for dinner and she pushed me back against the table here, said I tasted of wine too. Is it something of the French to be so forward? Or would they be Prussian as the Baron is? Oh Laurens, what has happened?”

“Are you well?” Laurens asks after a pause.

Tilghman shakes his head. “I believe the Baron may throw more wild of a gathering than I can withstand.”

Laurens walks over to Tilghman, picks up the glass of wine from the table which Tilghman must have lost somewhere along the way and drinks the whole thing down. He blows out a breath, puts an arm over Tilghman’s shoulder and gestures toward the door back into the house. “Come along.”

Laurens leads Tilghman back through the narrow corridors, through the office and the main parlor and lastly toward the dining room where the merriment continues. They pass one man slumped in the corner of the parlor making a snoring noise. The rest, however, sit or stand in the dining room now. The Baron sits at the head, as is his due, and Laurens sees Lafayette seated at the foot, Hamilton at his right. The Baron speaks in Prussian at the end of the table, possibly a speech or maybe just conversation, over the din of further talk and laugher. Du Ponceau keeps repeating in French for the rest of the room, which Lafayette and Hamilton appear to be trying to translate, but being so far away down the table are clearly having difficulty catching every word. Walker translates from the Prussian into English but only to the two men closest to him. North, who could be helping with the translating, instead moves around the table lighting small glasses with the Baron’s Salamander drink.

“Now see,” Tilghman says holding up a finger. “I am not the one having the most merry time at all.”

“Laurens!” Walker shouts. He gestures for Laurens to join their end of the table. “Come, we need every translator.”

“We cannot all translate at once,” Laurens says but moves regardless.

North slides up beside Laurens, pushing a glass of wine into his hand.

The Baron laughs once and taps his glass against Laurens’ saying something which Du Ponceau repeats as, “peu importe ce que nous disons mais que nous apprécions la nuit”

Walker on the other hand says, “Eat, drink and be merry!”

Laurens frowns at Walker, “Missed a few words there, did you not?”

Walker makes a derisive noise and gestures to the food. “It is the same.”

The table is laid with a multitude of rations, meat and potatoes predominantly. Laurens even spies some butter on a plate, not to mention, of course, bread and cheese and more bottles of wine. Laurens wonders exactly how many bottles found their way to this house and how the Baron managed the expense.

“There!” North says suddenly, handing a flaming glass to Laurens. “We are all prepared.” He repeats the same to the Baron in Prussian.

The Baron stands up suddenly, causing the room to clatter and yelp as all the men attempt to stand up with him, one chair falling over with a bang. The Baron only smiles and raises his glass. He begins speaking Prussian which North translates for one end of the table as Walker runs down to the other near Lafayette to translate as well.

“I thank you all for attending this gathering.”

North says, ‘party’ in a drawn out manner instead.

“You all deserve some levity for your hard work in training and weathering the season.”

North says ‘weathering the winter’ while Walker says ‘the fucking cold.’ Du Ponceau mutters the correct words to Laurens in French.

“And I am pleased to see all in keeping to the dress code.”

Several men snicker and Lafayette’s lips twist slightly.

“I never saw a more fine set of ragged men.” The Baron smiles in a way that could be described as lascivious, if one knows to look, or simply merry, to others less cognizant. Laurens cannot help a smile of his own.

“Please enjoy your full. Stay as you please and leave when you see fit. We shall not stand on ceremony.” He holds up his glass as a toast, the other men doing the same. “Prost!”

The Baron quickly drinks his shot, the other men around the table drinking as well with cheers and laughs. Laurens catches Hamilton’s eye as they both drink their fire. Hamilton grins and gestures with his head toward his side of the table.

Tilghman taps his finished glass against Laurens’. “I do believe we may be lacking chairs.”

Indeed the room appears to have at least twenty-five men within and perhaps twenty chairs at most. Certainly a casual gathering for dinner. Tilghman walks briskly around the table, gripping Laurens’ lapel to drag him along this time, the pair weaving around two men leaning against the wall with plates in hand. Tilghman stops them beside Lafayette and Hamilton.

“Good to see you once more, Tilghman,” Lafayette says amiably.

“I did not realize how long I was gone.”

“Your hair....” Hamilton says slowly, staring hard. “Positively... debauched.”

Tilghman flushes. “Well...”

Laurens laughs once, takes a drink of his wine and shakes his head. “If you had seen him in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?” Lafayette and Hamilton echo.

Tilghman looks away. “We need not mention that now.”

“Perhaps not now,” Laurens says.

“Later?” Hamilton asks hopefully.

Laurens winks at him making Hamilton grin.

“My apologies we did not save you a seat,” Lafayette says as he puts some beefsteak on his plate. “I wonder if we could not find more chairs?”

“Ah, come now!” Hamilton scoots a little over on his chair and pats his hand on the wood. “Laurens, you may certainly fit here.”

Laurens tries to suppress his smile. “I think you misjudge my size, Hamilton.”

Hamilton smiles wide slowly then shakes his head. “I do not.”

Lafayette gives Laurens a look, which Laurens pointedly ignores. Laurens walks around Lafayette’s chair then perches on the half of chair Hamilton offered. “I suppose it shall suffice.”

“And Tilghman?” Lafayette asks.

Tilghman waves a hand, pointing down the table. “I have found Marshall, he may assist me.”

Laurens frowns, unsure of the mindfulness of Tilghman’s choice. “With what?”

Tilghman, however, walks down the line of the table saying something to the men nearest him as he walks. Laurens stares for a moment but decides that no man so inclined would be bold enough to attempt anything untoward upon Tilghman in so public a setting, even if his eyes remind them of the Seine.

Laurens blows out a breath and looks around for a plate. Hamilton hands Laurens his fork, a potato speared on it. Laurens smiles and eats the piece of potato. He did not realize how hungry he had become. Hamilton grins at him, sliding his hand over Laurens’ leg. Laurens knows he should be more wary but in the Baron’s house and the noise around them, Laurens puts his hand over Hamilton’s squeezing once and shifting so as to obscure both under the table.

Hamilton takes his fork back from Laurens then pulls his other hand back up so he may cut some his meat. “I think perhaps we might share my plate. Share some meat?” He grins in an entirely unsubtle way.

Laurens smiles without meaning to. “We have before.”

Hamilton grins again. “And will again.” Then he takes a bite of the beef nudging his knee against Laurens'.

Laurens picks up his wine again and finishes the glass. He turns to Lafayette who sits primly, glancing to the side at Laurens. Laurens purses his lips. “Do you find the dinner more acceptable than previously?”

“I feel it not a proper dinner what with my own disarray.”

“Much as everyone else?”

Lafayette frowns at him. “It takes some adjustment but less than you may believe.” He smiles. “I am from France.”

Laurens chuckles louder than he intends and reaches for a half full carafe of wine. “Bawdy as court life.”

“Oh, I found a way to remove myself from court life some time ago.”

“Join the revolution in America?” Laurens asks with a smirk.

“That helps.” Lafayette grips the steam of the glassware, Laurens not realizing his hand slipped on the carafe. Lafayette pours more into Laurens’ glass then puts the carafe back down on the table. “No, I chose a seemingly accidental social misstep to free myself.”

“Savvy as always?”

“One learns with time.”

“And now?” Hamilton asks. “Is our ‘court life’ too jolly?” He chuckles again, leaning into Laurens and picking up his piece of bread.

“Too destructive on my breeches perhaps.”

Hamilton and Laurens laugh at the same time. Hamilton’s fingers trace over Laurens' on the table for a brief moment before he tears his bread in half, holding out a piece for Laurens. Laurens takes the bread, glancing down the table. The food is disappearing quickly and the wine as well. He sees a few more flames on drinks and much laughter. At the very head, the Baron, Du Ponceau and Walker sing something in Prussian. North sings as well but keeps laughing in the middle of phrases. Laurens wishes he could understand the words as it seems like a perfect tavern song, were they in a tavern, and the dinner does seem rather close to such. Tilghman sits at a chair now, another man hovering over him with his hands on the back of the chair. Tilghman stares at the man across from him, the two of them with a line of three port glasses in front of them. Laurens believes they may be racing or challenging each other in some way.

“Perhaps I should help Tilghman,” Laurens says at large to their area of the table, worrying his lip. “He has had a bottle on his own and I do not think he holds his drink well.”

“No,” Lafayette says, “as much drink as you have had, you would be less help now.”

“What?” Laurens says, with a frown at Lafayette.

“He is correct,” Hamilton says, sipping his wine.

“I have had some, yes.”

Lafayette gives Laurens a look. “Have you counted your glasses?”

“Is that something one must do?”

“If you wish to keep track.”

“Do I?”

“Do you?” Hamilton asks, laughing again and pinching Laurens’ side so he jerks and grins.

Lafayette nods. “Even if you do not, I am able to see your face.” He circles a finger in the air indicating Laurens. “And you are well within a drink more than sober, dear Laurens.”

Laurens gapes. “I do not believe...” Then Laurens trails off, looks left then right so the edges blur and he feels the weight of his limbs, the smile on his face and his hand resting close to Hamilton’s on the table. “Oh...”

Hamilton begins to laugh as Lafayette nods. “Ah ha.”

Laurens blows out a breath. “Well then.” Hamilton laughs again, bumping his shoulder against Laurens’. “Please please,” Laurens chides Hamilton, “You are drunk as well, more so indeed.”

Hamilton shrugs, noses Laurens’ shoulder, then picks up his glass of wine. “I have not denied that.”

Laurens stares at Hamilton for a beat then turns back at Lafayette. “Should I say congratulations to you then, Marquis?”

Lafayette chuckles once. “Possibly not.”

“Certainly not,” Hamilton says, leaning both elbows on the table and holding his wine between them. “There is a way to fix this.”

Lafayette smiles. “I know.” Hamilton turns his head, smiles and shakes his wine glass. Lafayette holds up his own. “I am well furnished, Hamilton.”

“You are putting me off is what you are,” Hamilton says, drinking a gulp of his wine. “But be French as you wish.”

“You make no sense.”

“Yes.” Hamilton turns to Laurens beside him. “But Laurens, dear boy, you follow my lead, do you not?”

“Which lead?”

“My wine lead.”

Laurens smiles. “It appears so.”

“Then another flaming spirit!”

Laurens frowns. “That is not wine.”

“I do not believe that matters,” Lafayette counters, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Then a glass crashes down the table drawing their attention, the Baron laughs loudly while Walker shepherds a trio of North Carolina regiment Lieutenants toward the front door.

“Our first loss?” Laurens asks.

Lafayette nods. “Undoubtedly.”

Laurens takes a sip of the wine Lafayette poured him. “Tomorrow will be an interesting day.”

“Tonight will be interesting,” Hamilton counters, biting the edge of his lip.

Laurens only stares at him thinking of rooms not here and beds too far away.

“I believe Tilghman may require rescuing at this present moment.” Laurens and Hamilton both turn to Lafayette as he stands from his chair. 

They turn again to see Tilghman’s head almost on the table, though his hand still holds up a glass with some liquid inside. A Captain, perhaps this Marshall Tilghman keeps speaking of, leans over him saying something in his ear.

“The men shall drive him to sickness.” Lafayette walks down the table, crowding the other man away from Tilghman and saying something to him.

“He is such a kind fellow.” Laurens turns to Hamilton as he speaks. Hamilton taps his finger on his wine glass. “Lafayette cares so for his friends.”

“He does.”

“As I for you.”

Laurens smiles, his hand straying over Hamilton’s knee. “Not quite the same.”

“Not quite.” Hamilton puts his glass down suddenly. “We should go,” Hamilton says in a hush.

“Go?”

“Elsewhere.”

“You are no longer hungry?”

“I am hungry for something else, John.”

Laurens breathes in slowly. “Hamilton...”

“Monsieur?”

Laurens and Hamilton look up sharply. Lafayette stands beside them once more supporting a sagging Tilghman.

Laurens grimaces. “Oh dear.”

“I am departing with Tilghman,” Lafayette explains. “I have said such to the Baron and thanked him for his hospitality.”

“Of course,” Hamilton says, propping his chin up on one hand.

“I believe Tilghman shall be well if I find him his bed at once.”

“And not someone else’s,” Laurens mutters.

Lafayette only raises his eyebrows. Tilghman makes a noise, lifting his head somewhat so he may look at them seated as they are. He mutters, “Too merry.”

Hamilton snorts in amusement and Laurens sips his wine again. Lafayette sighs and bows just a fraction at the pair of them. “Enjoy your evening and festivities.”

He shifts Tilghman around so he may lean closer to Laurens, kissing him quickly on both cheeks. Then he whispers in Laurens’ ear, “Be careful.”

Laurens stares at him as Lafayette stands up straight once more. Lafayette glances at Hamilton, leaning close to Laurens, swirling his wine around in his glass now back in his hand. Then Lafayette looks to Laurens again. Laurens nods once. Lafayette nods back. “Adieu.”

He turns himself and Tilghman around, aiding the other man in walking back to the hall and the front door.

“Lafayette is a very good friend, is he not?” Hamilton says again quietly.

Laurens watches Lafayette as he picks up his hat and Tilghman’s cloak. “He is.”

The dinner continues for another half an hour in the same fashion of boisterous noise and too much drink. The table grows messier, if also much less covered in food. They all enjoy dessert in the form of baked hickory nuts and another rousing speech from the Baron.

“If the army did not drink then there would be no wars won, what reward do men seek but such respites as this with their comrades?”

“I can think of a respite,” Hamilton says, leaning in closer to Laurens.

Laurens turns his head, close enough to kiss Hamilton, they still sharing the same chair despite the vacancy of Lafayette’s. Laurens smiles, touching Hamilton’s arm. He cannot think of anything clever to say through his haze and only murmurs, “yes.”

Men begin to rise from the dinner table, many of the regimental men singing together and making for the front door. No doubt, they might wish to be among their own men for less ‘formal’ merriment or simply know when a party is complete; though Laurens spies the Baron and Du Ponceu encouraging some men who seem less of their similar breed toward the door with thankful words of their attendance. Walker orders around some of the house staff, so the table begins to clear quickly though North carries at least two carafes of wine toward the parlor. 

Laurens stands from the table, pulling Hamilton with him and makes their way through the front parlor and toward the back office. He hopes to find at least a temporary privacy as Hamilton lips seem desirous of kissing at once.

In the back office, Laurens nearly trips over a glass fallen on the floor, Hamilton chuckling at him.  
“Such grace.”

Laurens gives Hamilton a look and walks him back until he hits the wall beside the door. Laurens presses against Hamilton, leaning in and kissing Hamilton with his hands on Hamilton Lapels, his lips tasting of wine and fire.

Hamilton kisses him back, hand on his jaw. “Privacy?” Hamilton asks.

Laurens kisses him again. “Shh.”

Hamilton laughs once, sliding his hand along Laurens’ waist. “The door is open.”

Laurens opens his mouth, glances at the door with a sighs. Hamilton grins more. Laurens steps back and moves to the doorway. Then North and Walker plow right into him.

Lauren stumbles backward until he hits the desk right on his tailbone so he groans in pain. 

Walker hisses, “My apologies!”

North, however, laughs into his hand until he spies Hamilton standing near the wall looking half-concerned and half-amused. “Hamilton! You too?”

“I too.”

Laurens stands upright, blinking away the alcohol infused fuzziness of his vision.

“Ah, you are well,” Walker says. “See.” He claps Laurens on the shoulders. “No worse than army wear.”

“Certainly not,” Laurens frowns.

Walker looks him up and down and makes a ‘tch’ noise. “Oh fine then, not as much slamming into desks in your pass times?”

Laurens’ eyes widen. “I...”

“Come,” Walker loops his arm through Laurens’ “Let us get you one more drink to settle your pains.”

“I do not need to –”

Walker however pulls Laurens on through the door. He tries to give Hamilton a look of assistance but North commands Hamilton’s attention. Then they pass through the door into the parlor once more. A carafe sits on one side table, glasses littered around the room. The Baron looks up at them as they walk in. He gives them a searching look. Du Ponceau sits on the couch speaking with two of General Greene’s aides, the two men telling him a story that sounds like it is from Germantown.

“Laurens!” One of them shouts. “You were at Germantown. The siege of the –”

“No, no,” Walker says, “Keep your battle stories, we are merry tonight.”

“Battle is merry,” one says.

“And Laurens has his own battle stories, does he not?” The other replies.

Du Ponceau cocks his head and crosses his legs, looking at Laurens. “You, battle?”

“A defeat, if you recall,” Laurens says sternly, starting to grow annoyed by the whole world and Walker still gripping his arm.

Walker finally stops them beside the Baron seated in a high back, green chair. Walker picks a bottle with clear liquid inside, pours some into a glass that looks as though it had wine in it before. The Baron slides his hand around Walker’s knee, saying something in Prussian. Walker looks down at him with a smile.

“Now,” Walker says, leaning against the Baron’s shoulder, he holds out the glass to Laurens. “Try.”

Laurens takes the glass, sniffing it once. “Lamp oil?”

Walker laughs then repeats for the Baron who grins wide. He leans forward, wrapping his arm around both of Walker’s legs. “Schnaps.”

Laurens raises his eyebrows then decides he is drunk enough now, what should this do more? He takes a large swig of the drink. He coughs at once, blowing out some air and shaking his head. Walker and the Baron both chuckle at him.

“And what is that?”

“Gin,” Walker explains, “From Holland.”

“Dear lord...”

Walker laughs again. 

The Baron grins. “Good, ja?”

“Good is not the word I would choose.”

“Ah, then you must try more until it is good,” Walker says, picking up the pitcher and pouring more into the glass. “The Baron says we Americans use spirits far too less than we should.”

“I am sure he said it just so...”

“Drink, drink,” Walker insists.

“I would gladly but –”

“Ah, come come,” Walker’s fingers trail down the buttons of the Baron’s uniform. “I would think you not so squeamish. After all, you were at Germantown.”

“Walker...”

“And with such cold as we have had, would you not wish to warm up? Gin does so quite well.”

“Yes, but –”

“Benjamin.”

They both look down at the Baron. He shakes his head at Walker, pointing with his one hand holding a glass of something undefinable. He speaks quickly in Prussian to Walker then looks at Laurens again and says, “Your Hamilton?”

Laurens presses his lips together tightly to stop a smile.

Walker huffs in obvious disappointment. “The Baron says it is not us with whom you would wish to spend more time.” Walker pouts in an entirely childish way then gestures back toward the office. “Off you go then, and take your gin, may help Hamilton just as well.”

Laurens smiles and feels very much like the Baron knows more than he should. He nods once then turns on his heel trying not to feel as though everyone watches him. He walks back into the office, closing the door behind him. 

Then Laurens sees North standing far too close to Hamilton. He had forgotten about North. As a matter of fact, it appears North had well forgotten about Laurens as he leans close to Hamilton, an arm against the wall and another touching Hamilton’s cravat. Hamilton looks as though he may burst out laughing at any moment, with North a few seconds away from kissing Hamilton most indiscreetly.

Laurens slams the glass of gin down on the desk so North jumps in surprise.

North smiles wide. “Laurens.”

“I do believe your Baron needs you right now, North, right this moment.”

Laurens grips North by the back of his coat collar and yanks him away from Hamilton. Hamilton grins instantly, crossing his arms. Laurens leans over, grabs the door handle, twisting open the door. Then he flips North around and shoves him through the door. “Goodbye!”

North makes an undignified noise, skin flashing from under his even more torn breeches, and Laurens closes the door once more. Laurens huffs once angrily, staring at the door. Then he turns his head to Hamilton. 

Hamilton still grins at him, tapping a finger against his lips. “Ah, there he is, my hero.”

“That man...”

“Have no worries, Laurens, I found him quite amusing.”

“I do not.”

Hamilton steps over to Laurens, pulls him down by the neck kissing him once. “Perhaps you need not worry about him now?”

“No.”

Hamilton grins. “And now your door is closed.”

Hamilton kisses him again and Laurens feels like he spins, like Hamilton carries him in his hands. “You are divine,” Laurens murmurs against Hamilton lips.

“Ah?” Hamilton kisses harder, his hands moving as though unsure where they wish to land. “Is that all?”

Laurens chuckles, rubs his thumbs over Hamilton’s neck, under his cravat, kisses him more, his tongue sloppy and he knows it but he cannot concentrate as he would like. He also cannot stay still. Then Hamilton turns him, so Laurens hits one cushioned chair and falls into it. Hamilton practically crawls into his lap, not nearly enough space in the chair for him to do so, forcing Laurens legs tight together to allow room for Hamilton’s knees to straddle him. Laurens looks up at him, his hands running over Hamilton’s thighs and Hamilton smiling down at him. Laurens knows he will always love this sight – Hamilton close and gazing down at him, the look of lust on his face and Laurens’ hands on him. Hamilton sighs, kisses Laurens’ lips again, pushing him back against the chair. 

“I feel as if I cannot get close enough,” he says between kisses.

“I know,” Laurens says, near out of breath.

A burst of laughter comes from the other side of the door making Laurens tense.

“Shh,” Hamilton says, kissing along Laurens’ jaw and pulling at buttons on his waistcoat.

“We are in an office... a parlor really.”

“Yes,” Hamilton says, pulling one button out and then a second. “At a party.”

“In the army.”

“The Baron’s party.” Hamilton kisses him again. “Do not argue, please.”

“I don’t wish to...” 

Hamilton kisses him deeply so Laurens loses his words, grips tightly to Hamilton’s ass so he can scoot Hamilton even tighter onto the chair. He wonders drunkenly why the chair should be so small and confining. The doorknob to the room suddenly rattles again, Du Ponceau’s voice loud saying something about Brandywine. Hamilton groans then flips around so he sits on the arm of the chair, Laurens leaning hard in the opposite direction so the chair does not tip over.

Then the door opens to Du Ponceau’s face. “Laurens, eh, as-tu été abattu à Brandywine?”

Laurens stares at him, blinks once then shakes his head. “I was not shot.”

Du Ponceau turns back to the room and repeats. “Not shot.”

Then Du Ponceau looks in again. “But injured, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Ha!” Du Ponceau points at them with a glass in hand. “Yes, c’était Germantown and, eh, you injured, Johnson, oui? Où?” Du Ponceau pushes the door open wider. “Come, come, Laurens, je pense –”

Du Ponceau suddenly makes an ‘oof’ noise, disappearing from the doorway as if pulled. Laurens hears North laughing loudly. Walker appears with the Baron.

“Pardon,” Walker says leaning against the Baron’s shoulder. “The Baron says, these boys do not take a hint, do they?”

“I believe the drinks may be at fault,” Hamilton says with a grin.

“As though you would not know,” Walker retorts.

Laurens makes a strangled noise and wonders if he should button his waistcoat up again.

The Baron laughs once. He steps into the room, touches Hamilton on the shoulder, nudging him off the chair. Then he holds out his hand for Laurens, who takes it, and the Baron pulls him up from the chair. Laurens feels quite grateful that certain parts of his anatomy had not caught up to his and Hamilton’s exploits yet at this moment. The Baron turns both Laurens and Hamilton around toward the back door to the office and gives them both a push. 

He says something in Prussian, which Walker translates with a sort of song to his voice. “The Baron reminds you there is an upstairs to our headquarters.”

Laurens turns back for a moment. “I –”

Hamilton grips his arm. “Shh.”

“But –”

“No.”

Walker nods and waves his fingers. The Baron gives them a significant look. “Go, go, better for all.”

Laurens mouth drops open but Hamilton grips his arm and says, “Merci!”

Before Laurens may think more through his fog of gin and wine and fire drinks, Hamilton guides them through the back door and toward a set of servant stairs. Laurens feels a blush on his face at the idea of the Baron essentially sanctioning whatever may arise above stairs. Laurens makes a sort of hiccup noise at the idea of the Baron knowing what they do.

“Oh, Hamilton,” he moans.

Hamilton turns as he reaches the top of the stairs. “I sense you think too much now.”

“Yes.”

Hamilton kisses him. “Stop.”

“Fine.”

Hamilton looks left then right, Laurens pressed close against his back at the head of the stairs.

“So many doors,” Hamilton says.

“Not the Baron’s room,” Laurens hisses.

“As though I know which it would be.”

“The largest?”

Hamilton snorts. “Indeed.”

The hall is narrow but with more rooms than their own headquarters, two doors to the left and three to the right. They choose left under the guess that the two room side might be such that the Baron has two spaces? They open one door and instantly jump back at the bark from within. Laurens sees the dog perking up on the bed then Hamilton closes the door again.

“I do not understand the dog.”

“Do you not like dogs?”

Hamilton gives him a look. “Not now.”

Laurens grips Hamilton hips and pushes him down the hall to the next room at the very end. The door remains open, nothing of particular note within the room, two beds, a dresser, a chair with considerable wear on the legs. Then Hamilton closes the door behind them.

Laurens pulls Hamilton close to him by his jacket, says “Alexander,” even as he kisses Hamilton. He pushes at Hamilton’s coat, his hands fumbling and less coordinated than he wishes. Hamilton yanks at the knot of Laurens’ cravat nearly choking him for a moment then the cloth disappears toward the floor and Hamilton bites at his neck. Laurens grabs Hamilton's hands pulling at buttons, trying to slide beneath his shirt, so Laurens may push Hamilton back and slide Hamilton’s coat off his shoulders. Hamilton takes a step back as he frees himself from his coat, his lips red, bits of his hair coming free and his balance clearly off.

“You wear too many clothes,” Hamilton says

Laurens laughs once as he pulls off his own coat. “I thought just the same.”

Laurens drops his coat beside Hamilton’s, pulling at the buttons of his waistcoat that still remain. However, before he reaches the end, Hamilton grips Laurens’ waist pulling him to the bed. They fall on it together, Laurens landing with one arm planted on the mattress so he does not crush Hamilton. Hamilton pulls him down, kissing him fiercely as Laurens tries to keep unbuttoning his waistcoat.

“You distract me,” he gasps when they pause to breathe.

Hamilton grins, unbuttoning the last button then letting go once more so Laurens may sit up and pull the waistcoat off his shoulders.

Hamilton smiles, staring. “No need to stop there, John.”

Laurens thinks it amazing they have a bedroom to themselves now and no worry of someone coming to disturb them. He pulls at his shirt, his hands still feeling slow, and yanks it off over his head letting it fall. Laurens scoots back so he may pull at Hamilton’s boots and drop them on the floor, stockings following those. 

Hamilton props himself up on his elbows then shakes his head. “It is hardly fair Laurens, to take mine and keep your own.”

Laurens shifts around as Hamilton asks so he may remove his own boots. “You enjoy watching me?”

“Yes.”

“And I enjoy taking off your uniform.”

“And more.”

Laurens pulls off his boots and stockings, feeling the room tilt for a moment in his head. Then Hamilton sits up, his knees around Lauren’s side. He trails kisses down Laurens’ neck then up again to his cheek. Laurens breathes in deeply and turns towards Hamilton, pushing him back on the bed again with his lips. Laurens sucks at Hamilton’s pulse point, as he tries to undo buttons he cannot see. He feels Hamilton gasp and his fingers struggle with Laurens’ breeches, their hands battling each other in their efforts.

Laurens suddenly laughs against Hamilton’s neck. “Holey breeches.”

Hamilton chuckles too. “Not enough holes now.”

“Oh yes, I should wish to have sex through a hole in my breeches.”

“I would prefer them gone all together,” Hamilton insists bending up so he may push Laurens’ breeches and small clothes down over his ass, kissing Laurens lips.

For the drunker of the two of them, Laurens is surprised at Hamilton’s ease in getting Laurens undressed. 

“You have quite a way about you, Hamilton.”

“Oh, have I?” Hamilton says, sitting up now with Laurens mostly in his lap. “A way to remove these faster?”

He strokes his hand down Laurens’ shaft so Laurens gasps and must grab Hamilton’s shoulders to keep from falling forward. Then Hamilton pulls his hand back and sweeps Laurens’ breeches down under Laurens’ slightly raises knees. Laurens chuckles and kicks his breeches and smallclothes off now without a garment left to him and far too many on Hamilton. Hamilton pulls at his waistcoat as Laurens lies over him, fumbling with the knot of Hamilton’s cravat. Why must they be tied so tightly? They only serve to block his way. Hamilton struggles to get his waistcoat off of his arms with Laurens on top of him but Laurens cannot stop kissing him or running his hands up Hamilton’s calves.

“Do you want me to take this off or not?” Hamilton finally says in exasperation.

“I do.”

“Then you must move.”

Laurens groans and presses his forehead against Hamilton’s. “Can you not manage some creativity?”

Hamilton growls, grips Laurens by the hips then flips him over inciting a gasp so Laurens lies on his back and Hamilton sits over him.

He grins down at Laurens’ startled expression. “Surprise.”

“Creative.”

He shrugs as he pulls off his waistcoat. “Simple almost.”

“No need to be arrogant.”

Hamilton leans over and kisses a line down Laurens’ chest. “Would you prefer I stop?”

Laurens huffs and fists his hands in the sheets. “Which thing?”

Hamilton chuckles against Laurens’ skin, dipping his tongue into Laurens’ naval inciting a whimper. “Well now, you do make it difficult to decide.”

“Alexander if you do not take your clothes off I shall be forced to take care of myself.”

Hamilton scoffs. “An empty threat.”

Hamilton grinds his hips down over Laurens’ crotch making him groan anew. “Yes, fine an empty threat,” Laurens admits, feeling any control he had ebbing away.

Hamilton smiles, untangling the mess Laurens made of his cravat. Then he pulls it and his shirt off over his head. He leans down to press kisses and bites across Laurens’ chest while he tries unsuccessfully to unbutton his breeches with one hand.

Laurens leans up enough on his elbows to watch Hamilton’s progress. “I may help if you…”

Hamilton makes a frustrated noise, sitting up and pulling at his clothing. Laurens sits up properly too, suddenly kissing Hamilton on the lips and wrapping his arms around Hamilton’s waist. “And you mocked me?”

“Shh,” Hamilton says against Laurens’ lips. “I only aim to please.”

“Ah yes.” 

The buttons finally undone, Laurens shifts backward, his lower regions aching all the more as Hamilton manages to get the last of his clothes off his hips, down his legs and blessedly on the floor where they belong. 

Finally, they both are happily naked. Laurens and Hamilton latch on to each other so quickly for a moment it is hard to tell just where all their limbs make contact – Laurens’ arm down Hamilton’s back to grab at his ass, Hamilton’s legs over Laurens’, pinning him where he sits, Laurens other hand tugging at Hamilton’s hair. Hamilton twists away for a brief moment, Laurens' hands still on his thighs, then he turns back with a small tin of oil found under the bed, of course. Then Hamilton grasps both their lengths with newly slick fingers between them. Laurens gasps against Hamilton’s neck, kisses right below his jaw. He feels Hamilton breathing heavy as his hand moves up and down far too slowly.

“Alexander, please you –”

“Have plenty of time.”

Laurens makes a half groan and half whine noise. “Are you not meant to be the eager one?”

Hamilton kisses his lips, slow and deep, tasting of wine, and Laurens does not need an answer because of course they are both eager, they are both wanting. Laurens shifts forward, pulls his hands back to hold Hamilton’s hips, feels himself growing harder under Hamilton’s hand, were it even possible; he feels so aching now. Laurens covers Hamilton’s hand on them, fingers and members and it is far too erotic to be over this quickly. Laurens pulls Hamilton’s hand away and reaches underneath Hamilton instead, dipping his fingers quickly in the oil and searching out Hamilton's entrance with his fingers. Hamilton groans deep in his chest, shift his hips higher on Laurens’ lap so he nearly sits on Laurens’ cock.

“Wait,” Laurens whispers. “It has been longer than you think.”

Hamilton laughs once, reaching his hand back and guiding Laurens’ finger inside him with a gasp. “Only weeks this time, John, not so long.”

Hamilton kisses Laurens hard, moving his hips up and down as Laurens works in his finger, moving it in and out. Hamilton makes a sound like a purr so Laurens puts his other hand on Hamilton’s cock, stroking slowly. His head spins, half from the drink and half from the heat of Hamilton in his lap and under his hands. From the blissful look on Hamilton's face Laurens would be happy just to use his hands all night. Laurens presses kisses to Hamilton’s neck to ground himself. He worries for a moment about both their balance, but if they fall off the bed the floor would be fine too; Laurens has no qualms in this moment about any surface of the room.

“Enough, enough,” Hamilton says with a ragged tone to his voice and gripping Laurens’ length. “I would rather more of you than just your hand.”

“Mhmmm,” Is all Laurens manages with his lips occupied.

Laurens pulls his finger out making Hamilton jerk slightly but only for a moment as they shift together and Hamilton sinks himself slowly down on Laurens’ slick length. He hisses once but then pushes down hard. Hamilton groans low in the back of his throat just as Laurens bites his neck and grabs Hamilton’s hips with both hands.

“Fuck,” Laurens whispers then lifts his head to kiss Hamilton’s lips again, his cheeks red and eyes wide.

They move together slowly, gasping with each thrust and Laurens has to dig his nails into Hamilton’s thighs so he does not become carried away, not when they have so much time.

Hamilton whispers as they move together, ‘John’ and ‘yes’ and ‘more’ and ‘John’ in a slur that loops around and disappears into Laurens’ kisses. Laurens cannot manage words, just thinks _alexand–alex–love–love_ with his whole body.

Laurens thrusts deep, so close to the end, so he grips Hamilton’s waist and tips them over, Hamilton on his back on the bed once more. Hamilton huffs in surprise but smiles almost instantly, throwing his head back at the change of position and Laurens thrusting harder and stroking Hamilton at once, managing a clumsy rhythm. He holds one of Hamilton’s hands against the sheets with his free hand, their fingers entwined as Hamilton pulls at Laurens’ hair with his other, pulls him down closer.

Hamilton grips Laurens hip, trying to hold him back. “Wait,” Hamilton whispers.

“I want to…”

“Shh,” Hamilton says once again, slowing the motion of his hips to slow Laurens down too, tantalizing and like torture but so pleasing at once. Hamilton strokes his hand through Laurens’ hair about his shoulders now. “John... shh.”

“All your shushing,” Laurens says quickly, biting his lip. “You are...”

“I am yours,” he whispers against Laurens’ lips.

Laurens rests his forehead against Hamilton’s, his whole body tingling with sensation with Hamilton under him and tight around him and his hands and lips. “And yours, always…”

Then Hamilton groans again, shifting his hips up to a different angle so Laurens slides deeper. They gasp at the same time, their clasped hands tightening. Laurens moves his hand faster and speeds his own pace, Hamilton turning his head to the side and shushing no longer, breathing heavy and looking like the last thing Laurens would ever need to see in his life.

Hamilton comes over the edge first with a cry, pulling Laurens down by his hair to kiss him. Laurens need only move a few thrusts more before he is spent, head spinning and lying down over Hamilton.

Hamilton presses kisses to his brow, as their breathing slows. They shift around to untangle themselves so Laurens lies beside Hamilton. Laurens grabs one of their cravats from the floor, ruining it with cleaning them both but he hardly cares now. He begins to truly feel the drunkenness once more, the ache in his head and dizziness, but perhaps the latter is from Hamilton.

“How long might we stay?” Hamilton asks as his fingers thread through Laurens’ hair.

“Here?”

“Right here.”

“I do not know.” Laurens shakes his head just a fraction. “I do not know the time now.”

“I want to stay,” Hamilton says.

Laurens chuckles. “Perhaps we should change our aid–de–camp office.”

Hamilton snorts. “Unlikely.”

“For many reasons.”

“But I do prefer this bed just now.” Hamilton turns his head. “And the man in it.”

Laurens smiles and kisses Hamilton. “I am pleased to hear it. I should be forlorn if you said otherwise.”

“Well, I would not wish to endanger your happiness.”

“Then stay.”

Hamilton smiles and blows out a breath. “I am still drunk.”

Laurens laughs. “Did you expect this to cure it?”

“Yes.”

Laurens laughs again. “Liar.”

Hamilton nods. “Yes.”

Laurens rolls onto his side, kissing Hamilton’s cheek and down to his neck. He rubs his hand in a circle over Hamilton’s stomach then up to his chest, the soft smattering of hair, the rise and fall of Hamilton’s breathing. He hooks one leg over Hamilton’s, pressing his toes against Hamilton’s’ ankles. 

Hamilton hums softly, turns his head to kiss Laurens’ lips. “If you continue so you may give rise to something once more.”

Laurens grins wide. “That is my plan, you have sussed it out.” Hamilton smirks at Laurens, looking entirely amenable. “And as you said,” Laurens continues, “we need not leave yet.”

Hamilton rolls onto his side and pulls Laurens flush against him with his hands on Laurens’ ass.  
“Then we should make use of our time.”

Though Laurens is not sure of the hour they two stole upstairs, he does hear the chime of the grandfather clock in the parlor when the two of them steal back downstairs and out the back kitchen exit, four in the morning. Hamilton waits in the back garden as Laurens creeps to the front of the house to retrieve their hats and cloaks. He hopes none should still be awake at this hour or downstairs, but as the party flourished so, can one be certain? He glances in the deserted dining room and then the front parlor. He spies Du Ponceau asleep on a settee. He does not stir as Laurens passes. Laurens retrieves their hats and cloaks without incident and returns to Hamilton waiting in the chill morning air. He swoops the cloak around Hamilton’s shoulders while Hamilton pushes their hats on each their heads.

“I suggest the kitchen entrance at headquarters,” Hamilton says, “nearest the stairs.”

“Agreed.”

They trudge back to General Washington’s headquarters, fortunately very close to Baron von Steuben’s. They spy at least one broken glass along the way from other revelers before them. No doubt, General Washington would be displeased with the gayety but allowances for the Baron are often made.

Once at the house, they creep inside undetected and up to their own room. Laurens hears at least one snoring aide from the room next door and movement in the General’s quarters. It would not be unheard of for his Excellency to be awake.

Hamilton puts a finger to his lips as he closes the door. “And now we sleep.”

Laurens nods, practically asleep on his feet in the moment. “A few hours.”

“We have had the same with work.”

“But with less alcohol involved.”

“And less sex.”

Laurens smiles as he lies on the bed, only his coat discarded. “A pity.”

Hamilton flops down beside him, boots and waistcoat off after his coat but no further. Laurens thinks about how he should take off his boots but his mind drifts off before he may sit up.

 

Laurens wakes up to the sound of Hamilton groaning in what feels like only ten minutes. The sun shines through the window and Laurens is unbearably thirsty.

“Lord,” he mutters.

Hamilton makes another displeased noise as he tries to stand. He sits back down and plants his hands on the bed. Laurens shifts around him and manages to stand up, his boots still on. He looks down at himself, his clothes terribly rumpled and still with the holes of last night. He drops into the chair, pulling off his boots then his breeches to change into his others. It is not until he once more wears his better breeches and his boots that Hamilton finally makes himself stand.

“Hamilton?”

“No.”

“Are you...”

“No.”

“Let me fetch you water.”

“Coffee… might do better.”

Laurens pulls on his coat as he attempts to flatten the wrinkles in his waistcoat by rubbing at them, to no avail. He half stumbles down the steps, clumsily tying back his hair, then moves straight to the aide office. He squints into the room where Tilghman, Harrison and Meade all sit at work.

Tilghman looks up. “My god man, you look a sight.”

“Thank you, a wonder you do not.” Tilghman only glances away, the picture of innocence. Then Laurens looks at Meade. “Good to see you back, Meade.”

Meade shrugs. “It was shorter a journey than one might expect and yet I still arrived before yourself and Hamilton this morning.”

“Did you ride all night?”

Meade laughs once. “Did you?”

Laurens stares at him for a long moment then turns to Harrison. “Is there coffee?”

Harrison looks up at him sharply. “If you arose at a more decent hour perhaps there would be coffee but as it is after eight then perhaps not.”

“Harrison...”

“There is coffee,” Tilghman says, gesturing toward the ceramic pitcher half hidden behind Harrison’s stack of books. 

Meade taps his quill on a blotting page, gesturing to Harrison. “Harrison is only cross he was not a member of your party himself as General Washington required him here instead. Tis such a pity to be so important at times, is it not old secretary?”

Harrison scoffs. “As though a man of my age would need to attend such a bawdy party.”

“Why should you think it bawdy?” Tilghman says in a slightly higher register than his usual voice.

“And the Baron is far older than you,” Meade counters.

Harrison gives him a look. “Certain of that are you?”

Meade makes a derisive noise.

Laurens walks further into the room then picks up the pitcher and two mugs from the shelf. “Thank you, Harrison.”

“I fetched the coffee!” Meade says indignantly as Laurens walks out and toward the stairs.

He taps on the door to the bedroom with the mugs then slips inside. Hamilton is dressed now but also leaning both arms on the dresser with his head laid over them.

“I have coffee.”

Hamilton groans in reply.

“Yes, quite so.” Laurens feels somewhat nauseated himself, though his head only aches a little. Laurens puts the mugs down and pours coffee into each. “Black, drink up.”

Hamilton takes one mug, blows out a breath then drinks a big gulp. He groans once and looks for a moment as though he may heave it back up. Then he takes another drink. “Yes, let us go now so I may sit again quickly.”

“Good idea.”

They leave the bedroom and walk slowly back down stairs, a mug each and the pitcher with Laurens. As they pass the General’s office. They hear a clipped, “Colonels.”

They stop and turn to see General Washington standing on the other side of his desk with Lafayette beside him. He gestures for them to come in. Laurens looks at the pottery in his hands, wondering how he might stand at attention holding them but they both walk in regardless. Lafayette smiles hesitantly at them; Laurens cannot tell the nature of his expression.

“Lieutenant Colonels,” The General begins almost even before they stop at his desk. “While I understand some evenings of revelry and the invitation of a ranking officer, I do not expect the men in my office to spend so late into their evening and morning frolicking as if drunken sailors or common tavern wastrels.” He fixes them both with angry looks. “You are required to be the model officers of this army as members of my staff and I do not want to see anything less than that at all times, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” they say together.

“You will both sit in that room and complete your duties as usual the entire day or, the next time you see fit to rip and drink through your uniform, I will manage to find other able aides who speak French.”

“Yes, sir.”

The General stares at them for a moment, his mouth a thin line, then he barks, “Dismissed.”

They turn in tandem and march back out into the hall, the door slamming quite literally behind them. Hamilton groans again, gripping Laurens’ arm. They look at each other with matching expressions of chastisement. Then they move to find their places in the aide office, the coffee returned to Harrison and Tilghman’s table.

Meade whistles at Hamilton as he sits. “I had not expected one to look worse than Laurens but, Hamilton, you win this race.”

“How fortunate for myself,” Hamilton says as he sits and drinks more of his coffee, stumbling into his seat and looking near to being sick.

Laurens and Hamilton start to the work of the day at once. Laurens assists with the drawing of a map for some of their other forces while Hamilton struggles through supply requests. Lady Washington visits with a request for any rations or supplies that could suffice to make a proper tea for an expected visitor the following day. Laurens notices the look she gives the pair of them before she manages to master her features back into her usual decorum. Laurens hopes their state is not well known beyond this headquarters. Hamilton stops several times in his writing to put a hand to his head and breathe slowly throughout the day. Laurens himself must look away from the map to focus his eyes and drink more coffee than usual. However, they both press on and do not flinch from their duties.

Several hours into the day, come early afternoon, a knock sounds at the front door. Hamilton rises to answer and exclaims, “Why, Baron,” upon opening it.

Laurens looks up to see the Baron and Captain Walker at his side as they enter. Both appear quite without any sort of complications from the previous evening’s frivolities. Laurens is jealous.

“Thank you again for the invitation and a pleasing evening,” Hamilton says to the Baron, which Walker quickly relates.

The Baron nods, “Quite welcome.”

Hamilton then gestures down the hall and escorts them to the General’s office where Laurens hears, “Baron, do come in.”

It takes Laurens a moment but he remembers, the Baron and the General were to speak on advancement of the Baron’s training regimen for certain soldiers of rank who could do with some learning of strategy. Laurens looks around the table for the most recent reports of troop progress, which should help the meeting. He finds it under some correspondence of Meade’s and picks it up.

“It is incomplete,” Meade says.

“No, Harrison added the notes last evening,” Tilghman says with a smile, “as he was so good as to relate.”

Harrison only humphs as Laurens stands and makes his way to the General’s office. He raps his knuckles on the doorframe beside Hamilton who slides to the side to make room. The General looks up at him. “The report from General Greene.”

“Thank you, Laurens.”

Laurens weaves carefully around the Baron to put the report on the desk then walks back toward the door, Hamilton turning to follow. However, just as they step into the hall the General speaks, “A moment Colonels.”

Laurens turns back with a frown. Hamilton shoots him a confused look but they both wait as instructed.

“Baron,” the General says, “while I understand the desire for frivolity and entertainment during such trying times as these and especially for those in the thick of the fight, I would appreciate if you could manage in the future to keep such functions that you arrange to a more appropriate level and that you not return my aides to me in such as state that they are unable to properly perform their duties the day after.”

Laurens stiffens and feels Hamilton do the same beside him. Walker’s translation halts and restarts far more hesitantly several times. Lafayette, a step behind the General, raises his eyebrows high. The Baron does not move an inch. The General and the Baron stare at each other for a breath before the Baron replies.

“While I understand your position and displeasure, I am most certainly not in the habit of frequent gatherings of this kind and am as dedicated to the American cause as you.”

“I did not deny or imply such in either case,” the General interrupts.

“But,” The Baron continues, Walker’s voice rising with his as if a puppet, “if I should invite certain officers to any gathering I have and their state should become less than desirous I trust them to handle themselves with decorum and as an officer should. As I am aware of it, all the officers in your office which attended my event perform their duties now as usual, so you have no such cause for this censure of myself or your officers.”

“I will ask you not to dictate to me how my officers should or did behave.”

“As it was my house where they invited and I who saw them there, I can confirm they acted in every measure in public as aides under your direct command should and thus you have no reason for this farce of a dressing down, sir.”

The General holds up his hand, pointing as if on the battlefield. “You know exactly what I speak of, such levels of drink and behavior most raucous and certainly not conducive to any quality of work thereafter!”

The Baron laughs once, arms clasped now behind his back. “They are all adults, quite able to decide for themselves how much they should imbibe or how late an hour they may stay when not in the course of their duties, sir, or do you see yourself as their father, scolding unruly sons because they stray from your embrace?”

General Washington smacks the report Laurens gave him down on the desk making every man in the room, apart from the Baron, start with surprise. Hamilton makes a choked off noise and Walker steps a fraction behind the Baron. 

“I do not find it amusing, Baron,” the General continues, “to see officers on whom I rely and I know take their duties seriously played about in this manner!”

The Baron practically squawks. “Played about, sir?”

“Your revelry was outrageous both in the extent of ration used, the liberal flow of alcohol, unnecessarily long into the night and absurd customs of uniform and I believe using fire and spirits as a potent combination?”

“Sir, if you would allow me –” Laurens starts but The General hits his hand on the table once more. “No, you may not Lieutenant Colonel!”

Laurens snaps his mouth shut, shooting Hamilton a look.

“Sir,” Hamilton tries boldly and quickly, “I do not believe the Baron felt his gathering of any –”

“Did I ask your opinion on this matter Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton?”

“Sir, I –”

“Then I would suggest your silence now.”

Hamilton fists his hands and closes his mouth, giving Laurens the same look Laurens just gave him. 

“As you said, General,” the Baron continues, “I may conduct my personal gatherings as I please. All the officers in attendance were not on duty at the time, no property was damaged…”

“Oh, of course not, just a depletion of our stores and a reduction in proper manpower come morning.”

The Baron scoffs. “Many a man has worked under the effects of such a previous night.” Laurens groans quietly despite himself. “If you do not enjoy such revelry that is your own business but such behavior is not illegal, even in the army.”

“Then perhaps I should make it so!”

The Baron gives him a cutting look which says more insult that perhaps all of his words up until that point. Lafayette even appears struck by the Baron’s face of revulsion toward the General. 

“Your politics aside,” The Baron continues, “you have been injured none by my actions nor your officers’. I allow them time to be merry during a difficult war; I allow them privacy should they need such.” 

Laurens tenses up knowing exactly what the Baron means. He sees Lafayette give Hamilton a concerned look which Hamilton returns, his lips tight together. The Baron pushes on however. 

“I do not think a man capable of constant work without rest. I do not believe it wise or even healthy to keep one so high strung that they should wear to breaking points or into error. Do you believe your officers not humans in need of some relief from the war be it the field or the office? All men need comfort of one kind or another to make such hardships as this war bearable.”

Beside him, Hamilton looks as though he may vomit.

“Your Lafayette even joined my gathering and I hear no such rebuke toward him.”

Lafayette’s mouth opens slightly. He shoots a look at the General who turns his head toward him. By the expression the General schools quickly into something more banal, the General did not know Lafayette attended.

“The Marquis is a Major General,” His Excellency says levelly, “and not in my office.”

The Baron gives the General an incredulous look. “Oh, of course.”

“I meant no offense,” Lafayette says quietly to the General.

“And you have given none,” The General replies with a smile. Then he turns back to the Baron, his face still displeased. “You may say all this, sir, but there is a difference between merriment and excess. You fall into the later.”

“Perhaps you do not know enough of true merriment!”

“Perhaps your Prussian customs are such, but not in America.”

“Or perhaps you wish to impose your own stringent view to those young men you can grab your hands upon.”

“It is my army, sir!”

“And they are not your sons, sir!”

“Nor are they yours!”

“Baron, bitte…” Walker tries after he translates the last shout from the General but the Baron waves his hand at Walker, silencing him.

“If they were I would understand them far better than you, General, and I should know far better how to bring the best from them. As though my social gatherings were the only aspect of my interest and concern? Ha! And yours? In the army? I think you would not extend beyond that, I believe you would not know the first thing about what any of them should need!”

“I believe we stray from the topic at hand…” Laurens tries helplessly, stepping closer to Walker.

The General and the Baron, however, are deaf to anything but each other now.

“I am the Commander in Chief of this army. I will command the members of my staff as I see fit and you may speak on as you wish about jolly behavior and outside concerns but this is not the civilian world, sir, this is the military. We have standards here to uphold and rules and I will see them all followed and your revelry and clear provocation of inappropriate and excessive behavior is beyond the bounds!

“Oh, certainly, your rules and your bounds and what do you see broken? What do you know of broken? Do you police them as your staff and commander or more so where you are out of bounds?”

General Washington’s mouth drops open in offended rage of the kind Laurens has never seen on his face before. Laurens seriously considers grabbing Hamilton and fleeing from the house for a moment. Then Lafayette grips the General’s arm. He looks sharply at Lafayette but Lafayette just stares back at him with a cautious expression. The General turns back to the room at large, straightens up then picks up a quill from his desk.

“Perhaps we should discuss the training regime at another time.”

“Or perhaps we may pass such changes through our aides.”

“I will send Harrison to you; no doubt you need less French translation now.”

The Baron frowns. “Less so than yourself, sir.”

General Washington bristles again but before the shouting may restart, the Baron turns on his heel and stalks from the room making Laurens and Hamilton hastily extract themselves from his path. Walker chases after the Baron shooting Laurens and Hamilton apologetic looks, mouthing ‘sorry, very sorry’ as he goes. The Baron stomps through the hall and then the front door slams upon his exit.

Hamilton and Laurens turn back to the General. He stares at the space between them for a moment where the Baron just stood moments earlier. Then he breathes in deeply and turns back to the papers on his desk. Lafayette looks up at Hamilton, opens his mouth then closes it again. He inclines his head toward the door, giving Hamilton a look.

“Sir,” Hamilton says instead. “If I may…”

“You are both dismissed,” the General snaps.

Hamilton starts to speak again but Laurens touches his arm. He looks at Laurens who shakes his head once. They both salute then turn and leave the office. Laurens shuts the door quietly behind them. Then he turns to look at Hamilton. 

“He defended us,” Laurens says, his voice low. “The Baron he… he need not have.” Laurens cannot understand it.

Hamilton stares back at Laurens with a hesitant nod, his expression far away. “But he did.”

Laurens cannot think what else to say. He touches Hamilton’s shoulder so they turn together into the aide-de-camp office. Harrison, Tilghman and Meade all now sit absolutely still, none of them writing, but staring in expectation at the door. Hamilton and Laurens walk back in without comment and resume their previous places at table.

Meade clears his throat after a moment. “So… are you court-martialed now?”

Laurens laughs once in a strained way.

Hamilton looks at Meade. “Not yet but the Baron might be.”

“Or the General depending on whose side you choose,” Harrison says with a grumble.

“And uh,” Tilghman says in a hush, “is the General aware I attended the party too?”

At this, Hamilton and Laurens both laugh quietly. Laurens taps a finger on Tilghman’s hand, “you had better hope not, Tench.”

“So then,” Harrison says as he picks up his quill. “After your second dressing down of the day do you feel your party was well worth such?”

Laurens and Hamilton look at each other for a long moment. Laurens thinks of Hamilton’s expression every time Hamilton saw him at the party through haze of drink. How his unguarded smile looked like heaven and happiness and home. He remembers Hamilton’s voice saying ‘shh’ as he kissed Laurens, Hamilton’s hands on Laurens’ hips, the sound of the clock in the Baron’s house, the hours of close, naked skin pressed against his own. He hears Hamilton saying, ‘I am yours.’ 

Laurens nods as Hamilton smiles back at him now. They speak together, “It was.”

**Author's Note:**

> References:  
> [The infamous torn clothing and flaming shots party](https://archive.org/stream/lifeoffrederickw00kappuoft#page/120/mode/2up/search/salamanders)  
> [William North](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_North)  
> [Alcohol in 18th Century](https://www.alcoholproblemsandsolutions.org/alcohol-in-the-18th-century-european-expansion/)  
> [About alcohol burning](https://ask.metafilter.com/95484/At-what-proof-will-spirits-burn)  
> [Yes, Lafayette had red hair too](http://redhairmyths.blogspot.com/2015/05/the-revolution-continues.html)


End file.
